


Gray

by thestewboy (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, Blindness, Depression, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, F/M, Half-Dead Sollux Captor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 08:50:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16889415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/thestewboy
Summary: Sollux didn’t mind. He minded less and less; life and all its trappings were a tasteless paste, consumed out of apathy.





	Gray

There he was. Like always. His glasses stood out fragrant and sickly sweet among the drab gray of the lab. It was all gray down here, in the deep bowels of the meteor. Just pipes and cold sheets of metal with loose cords for decoration and outside, the blackness of space. You shuddered. At least above they all had carved out common rooms and rest blocks and alchemized fabrics for Kanaya; there were recuperacoons, food, people. There was color. But the gray, dusty smell didn’t seem to bother him, and he rarely left the room.

It felt strange to touch him, and the thought of that made something curl up inside you, and your eyes sting. You could sense him there, tangible, and yet you could hardly bear to cross the immeasurable space between you. The bones of his shoulder were hard under his threadbare shirt. He was always too thin, you thought, but now he felt more like a bundle of sharp wires than a living body. Despite your frequent goading, he rarely ate. He didn’t need to, now that he was only half living. Wasn’t hungry. And so, quickly, he was pared down to the last shred of himself, shedding off all that was inessential and not considering what would be left. Sollux didn’t mind. He minded less and less; life and all its trappings were a tasteless paste, consumed out of apathy. Stuck in the liminal space between physicality and apparition, he became both. Well, you minded terribly.

He didn’t turn. “I recognized your footsteps this time.”

Did he? You wanted against all logic to wrench his head towards you and force him to look you in the eyes. Or, failing that pointless gesture, say your name, and let you know there was still something small, even in the way that you walked, that he still saw as Terezi, not a disembodied voice, another weight upon his neck.

Instead, you turned the back of his chair around and forced an inconsequential smile, “And what are you up to Mr.Appleberry Blast? Your usual misanthropic shenanigans?” You couldn’t leave him space to say your name for the fear he might be wrong.

Sollux shrugged noncommittally and reached back to grope for his place at the keyboard. “You understand. It’s hard to be around them like this.”

Them. Everyone. “What are we, then?” you wanted to scream, “The blind kids club?” You were included of course, on principle, yet it seemed unfair to group yourself with Sollux, who couldn’t walk up the stairs without feeling tentatively for the next step, couldn’t tell what soda he’d grabbed until he took his first sip, couldn’t bring a spoon to his lips without fumbling trial and error. But he was right that you understood. You understood how each guiding hand, offered in good intent, could feel like a stab of contempt, a pointed reminder of your helplessness. You understood how impossible it was to sit there, surrounded by rambling, faceless, spirits who called themselves friend and remain sane. You understood the desire to anchor yourself to a familiar space in a world of unfathomable foreignness, and hold on to the known like a lifeline.

His fingers searched delicately at the keys, his face, out of habit, directed at the faint green glow. You leaned over him, illuminated, “How does it work?”

He reached out an open palm expectantly and you gave him your hand, which he placed gently over the keyboard. “Press a button.” He said with a lopsided smirk. When you pecked at a key, the A, two small shocks ran through your body, first a short buzz, then a longer one. You yelped, jumping backwards, and he laughed nasally, sounding like his old self. “Its Morse code. I can’t exactly lick the computer screen.”

“Doesn’t it hurt after awhile?”

He gave that awful, careless shrug again, “It works.”

“Listen,” you started slowly, “I want you to come to dinner tonight. With everyone.”

His face softened, “Oh. I could.”

“But will you?”

He hesitated before shaking his head wearily.

Your jaw clenched with suppressed frustration, “Why not?”

“I don’t think they want to see me.”

And that was it. You seized him by the arm, drew him from the chair, and shook him. It was like lifting a shadow. He stood there impotently, empty-eyed, as you caught a swathe of his t-shirt in your fist and dragged him close. Your lips pulled back into a snarl.

“You think they don’t want to see you? Are you really that fucking clueless? You’re all Karkat talks about! And I sit there, worrying about your apathetic ass for no reason at all, wondering why I should bother caring when you clearly don’t give two shits about yourself!” Then your voice went hoarse and you folded to your knees, sobbing pathetically. If only he would have railed back with scathing retort, raised his voice or bared his fangs, grabbed you, snarled, shown in some way that your words had moved him.

But all he did was quietly lower himself to the floor and put one long arm around you.

“I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I’m a lot better now.”

You sniffled and agreed, “You’re right, it doesn’t seem like it. It seems like you’re losing yourself.”

He sighed. “I was so angry, TZ. And now I’m not."

“But you’re not happy either.”

“I’m better,” he said firmly. “I’ve changed.”

“Sollux. I never wanted you to change“

“And that’s the problem. There were so many layers of bullshit, Terezi. The voices. My powers. Even my fucking speech impediment. All of it was me, but that didn’t it mean it was good. My mind was so fucked up.” He spoke thoughtfully, his voice low and mournful. “And now everyone still wants me to be that way, even though I was miserable.”

She flung herself against his chest wretchedly, and held him, pressing her face into his ribby chest in a way that resembled a headbutt more than a hug.

“Come to dinner, Sollux. Please.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is some self-indulgent crap that I wrote in one day, loosely inspired by the heart’s in the small change by grassthatchedHut


End file.
